


Let's Start From The Beginning

by ThroughTheTulips



Series: I don't think that means what you think it means [5]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alien Biology, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Crossover, M/M, Other, Stiles is the master of Ancient technology, Stiles makes stupid choices, blink and you miss it Samantha Carter/Jack O'Neill, but no one is hurt, kind of I mean they're aliens, permanently
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-20 21:20:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10670991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThroughTheTulips/pseuds/ThroughTheTulips
Summary: Stiles' technical expertise is requested on Earth. Should he really be traipsing across the galaxy in late stage pregnancy? No, he should not. Does he go anyway? Yes, he does.





	Let's Start From The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JAK_in_the_box](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JAK_in_the_box/gifts).



> This is told from Stiles' point of view, so a lot of descriptions might seem weird. It also might be a little bit longer than the others, but I wanted to get to a certain point. Question for you guys in the end notes, okay?
> 
> When it comes to the SGC, in my head Jack retired and consults sometimes, so now he and Carter can be together legally. Carter hasn't been assigned to Atlantis because Deaton has dirt on all the politicians who got Weir booted from command. SG1 here currently consists of Carter, Jackson, Teal'c, and someone else who I'll decide on later.

“You have to recalibrate the siventis every time there’s a shield malfunction. See, the power surge causes a feedback loop and it just throws all the ghurents off.”

Stiles paused to let the Tau’ri scientists write that down. They were big into writing, which he hadn’t understood until he found out they had no oral tradition. Their memory was just as good as a Beaconite’s- in some ways, a little better- but they hadn’t been trained to use it. He watched their pencils move and promised himself he’d make sure his kits knew all the Teaching Tales. He’d get someone to write new ones for Tau'ri stuff.

A thread of cinnamon-sun-fur reached his nose, and he turned as Scott bounced around the corner. The caless swiped a hand over his arm in casual scent-greeting. “The Tau’ri Sheriff wants you,” he said, excitement wafting thickly off him. “Their Stargate back on Earth is acting funny and they want you to come fix it.”

“Really? I thought Earth was a no-Atlanteans-allowed zone?”

“I guess you’re the exception. They need your skills.”

Smugness and pride tinged his friend’s scent, and Stiles blushed. Learning the Ancient technology had been a hobby when he was younger, just a fun thing he did in his spare time. It made him feel funny that of their whole year-group only Danny knew it better now. The tenass gave his students an apologetic smile. “Sorry, guys. We’ll finish when I get back, okay?”

No one looked happy about it, but they nodded. Stiles headed for his room, then nearly tripped when Scott grabbed his arm. “Whoa, hey, precious cargo dude.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Scott said, putting a hand out to steady his friend’s unwieldy body. Stiles was almost through the second moon, and he felt like a bloated macalloon. “Just, Derek is packing your stuff. We’re supposed to go to the gate room to meet with Colonel Caldwell. He’s the Sheriff of the _Daedelus_.”

Stiles perked up so hard his ears popped out a little. He drew them in under Scott’s critical eye. “Well, that’ll be fun. I heard the _Daedelus_ is made from like three race’s technologies. Think they’ll let me poke around or-”

“How long has that been happening?” Scott interrupted, worried. “You know that means you’re close to shifting.”

“That’s only the second time,” the tenass said defensively. “I should have like a halfmoon.”

“Who’s the Healer here, you or me? With three cubs you’ll shift somewhere in the third moon. We won’t even get there until halfway through, and you still have to fix the thing. We should send Danny instead.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Dad won’t let both me and Danny off Beacon at the same time, Scott, not when the elders are thinking about retiring. Anyway, I’ll be fine. I can hold off a few days if I need to.”

He turned and walked firmly towards the gate room. Scott followed, still troubled but letting it go. Like he should, Stiles told himself. There wasn’t a problem. Most tenassi had at least a halfmoon between Tremors and the Urge. Even if he had less time, he had enough.

Probably.

Maybe.

Derek was already in the gate room, wearing an oversized backpack with Stiles’ little duffle at his feet. As always, the scent of him sent thrills down Stiles’ spine: trees and sugar and just the faintest hint of woodsmoke. He gave in to the urge to bury his face in his duca’s neck. “Hi.”

Derek let out a little huff of surprise, though he smelled pleased. “Hi.” He laid a hand on the mountain of Stiles’ stomach. “And hello to you guys, too. Even though it’s barely been three hours since I saw you.”

“Too long.” Stiles pulled back reluctantly (Derek smelled so _good_ today) and checked for the other people waiting: the Atlantis Sheriff who always smelled of amerose even though they didn’t even have it here and a bald man with an excitingly electric scent, part Ancient tech and part sweat with a strange hint of-

“What _is_ that?” Scott was snarling a little. Stiles understood the nerves- something about the bald man’s scent made his teeth itch. “Why do you smell like- like Goa’uld?”

His words snapped the scent into place in Stiles’ memory. The tenass stepped behind Derek, wrapping his arms around his stomach, but none of the Tau’ri were alarmed. Director Deaton cleared his throat. “There’s nothing to fear, gentlemen,” he said. “Colonel Caldwell was at one point infected with a Goa’uld, but it’s been removed. I can assure you we scan everyone regularly now.”

Scott stopped snarling. He offered the colonel an apologetic grin. “Sorry about that. We’ve never met one, of course, but Grandmother gave us the scent memory just in case.”

“I thought this Grandmother left a long time ago?”

The Sheriff seemed no more than mildly interested, but his scent was sharp. Stiles wondered why he always felt he had to trick information out of them. “Scent memory,” he explained patiently. “We’re born with some scents Grandmother thought were important. So, um, your Gate isn’t working?”

Colonel Caldwell, who’d been watching the by-play without comment, raised his chin. “That’s right. It started taking longer to form a wormhole, then suddenly stopped letting anyone dial in. We’ve got all our teams that were offworld at our beta site, but we need this cleared up soon.”

Stiles picked up his pack from Derek’s feet. “Okay. What have you tried so far?”

The Tau’ri gave him identical blank looks. “You’ll have to take that up with the Gate techs,” Caldwell said, impatience edging into his scent. “Are you ready to go?”

He glanced at Derek. The man took Stiles’ duffel back like he couldn’t stop himself and nodded. “Ready, sir.”

Caldwell tapped something on his chest. Stiles felt a shiver, then a pull. He lurched forward and lost his delicious macaroni lunch all over the floor.

The strange metal floor.

He found enough time before the second wave of nausea hit him to realize they were somewhere entirely different: an enclosed metal room somewhat like the Arrangement Chamber back home. Two unfamiliar control stations sat towards the front with a padded command chair in between. The air had a stale edge to it, like it was being recycled somehow.

“What’s wrong? Are you all right? Stiles, is everything- what do you need?”

Derek’s adorable panic attack cut through the fascination. Stiles eased up from his hands and knees, wiping a shaky hand across his mouth. His duca stood behind him, rubbing his back while a little crowd of people in Tau’ri jumpsuits hovered in front. Stiles gave them an awkward wave. “Not exactly how I wanted to make my entrance. Where’s Scotty?”

“Here,” his friend said, stepping out of the crowd. “I know the range you can get, and I didn’t want to get hit.”

Stiles was offended. His spew hadn’t hit anyone- well, maybe that one guy’s boots a little. “I didn’t know that would happen,” he said huffily. “If I’d known you were going to use a transporter I would have told you they weren’t great for pregnant tenassi.”

Derek let out a little moan. “Oh my god, are you okay? Are the babies all right? We should have taken a puddle jumper, I’m such an _idiot_.”

“Hey, whoa, none of that.” Stiles got to his feet. He had to lean on Derek, but that was mostly to calm the man’s wild anxiety. “You didn’t know, okay?”

Colonel Caldwell handed him a bottle of water. His face looked just as stoic as before, but his scent was more guilty than irritated now. “That’s my fault. I’m sorry, we’ve never had to transport anyone in your… condition. I didn’t think.”

“He should probably avoid the Stargate, too,” Scott suggested. “It can be risky, even if he’s shifted.”

From the heavy scent of puzzlement the crew hadn’t gotten the Beaconite biology talk. On the bright side, Stiles didn’t smell any of the disgust he’d caught from some of the Atlantean Tau’ri. That was refreshing.

“You should lie down,” Derek declared. He slid a strong arm around the tenass’ waist. It was such a calessi move Stiles couldn’t help but melt. He knew Derek wasn’t caless- he’d checked often enough- but he sure smelled like one. Every Tau’ri he’d met smelled like calessi and he still hadn’t seen a wreton anywhere. Not that he’d looked of course. Maybe that once in the gym shower, but no one had noticed so it barely counted no matter what Scott said.

A sickly sweet smell tugged at his attention, and he remembered the half-digested macaroni at his feet. “Uh, sorry about this. If someone can get me a towel-”

“Don’t worry about it.” Colonel Caldwell waved to one of the bystanders, a woman whose shirt named her Ssgt Holmes. “We have some soldiers on additional duty, let them have the honor. Why don’t you three get settled into your quarters?”

Additional duty was what the Tau’ri called punishment detail. Stiles nodded, relieved that he didn’t have to look at the vomit again. It made him queasy. He leaned on Derek and followed Ssgt Holmes out of the room.

“How far along are you?” A lemony burst of innocent curiosity accompanied the woman’s question. “We didn’t know you were pregnant, so you’re kind of up some stairs from the mess. Is that okay?”

“As long as I can’t smell it. That mac smelled way better going down.”

Derek laughed. As always he sounded surprised to hear it, which made Stiles feel sad about the surprise but pretty good about himself. His Derek laughed often. “Not the mess on the floor. She means the chow hall. Where we eat.”

An interested twinge in his stomach made Stiles’ tail itch. He held it in, growing worried.

Maybe he didn’t have as much time as he thought.

 

The _Daedelus_ was incredible. Stiles ran from one end to the other, sticking his nose wherever they’d let him put it. That was pretty much anywhere. Whenever someone hesitated he just shifted and bribed them with fluffy fur.

He’d noticed that no Tau’ri seemed to know how awkward his love for being petted was. Back home people no one on two legs would cuddle with a pregnant tenass for fear of setting off their calessi mate. Here he could flick his tail and have soldiers bickering over who got to rub his belly first. Better yet, Derek didn’t get jealous over it. He thought it was hilarious and often teased the people who fell prey to his duca’s silky red fur.

Stiles had seriously lucked out with Derek. He’d wondered growing up how he was supposed to choose a mate when everyone saw him as the weird, hyperactive genius child of the Sheriff. Now everything that made him slightly weird on Beacon was an asset for Derek.

Grandmother must really love him.

The _Daedelus_ ’s crew smelled surprised at Stiles’ relentless enthusiasm which, again, weird. Didn’t they know how hard it was to combine two kinds of tech? Here they were with this amazing spaceship that incorporated the science traditions of _three races_ and they kept apologizing for messy wiring in a few places. Tau’ri were really cute sometimes. Whenever he felt homesick all he had to do was talk to one of their scientists and bam, life choices affirmed.

One thing nagged at Stiles. As much as he hated to admit it, Scott had been right about the Tremors. Things were getting bad.

The trip from Atlantis to Earth took eighteen days. By the fifteenth Stiles knew he was on borrowed time. The kits danced on his organs every time he got up or down. They were just plain running out of room in there. He hadn’t shifted in days and he was _aching_ to, but if he did now he wasn’t sure he could change back. He’d never gone so long without wearing his fur. It was awful. Derek kept shooting him worried looks, probably wondering what was wrong. At least the human didn’t know how strange it was that Stiles wasn’t shifting.

Until, of course, Scotty broke.

“This is stupid,” the caless announced over breakfast on the seventeenth day. “I’m going to tell him.”

“Noooo,” Stiles moaned without raising his head from the table. “I can do this for one more day.”

“It’s not one more day, Stiles,” Scott insisted. “You don’t know how long fixing the Gate will take. You can really hurt yourself doing this.”

“Doing what? What’s wrong?”

Somehow Derek had snuck up on them and was standing, white-faced, with a tray of Stiles’ favorite Tau’ri foods. Stiles cursed his distraction. Normally he could smell Derek across Atlantis, but right now his entire being was focused on keeping shape. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Lie,” Scott said automatically. Traitor. Stupid calessi and their stupid overprotectiveness. “Derek, Stiles has been having Tremors since before we left Atlantis.”

Derek dropped the tray, which luckily landed on the table and not all over the floor. “Tremors? Like seizures?”

Scott made an exasperated gesture. “Dude, _Tremors_. Like, his ears and tail keep popping out. He’s two inches from shifting.”

“From- oh. _Oh_.” The man ran stiff fingers through his hair. “Okay, so… so why don’t you? I’ve noticed you weren’t, I just thought you were getting tired of manipulating the crew.”

He was very sweetly confused. Didn’t he remember the biology talk Scott had given him last moon? Stiles picked up his hand and placed it on his own neck, gratified when Derek started to rub absently. The scenting lessons were sinking in at least. “I could,” he admitted. “But I’m not entirely sure I could change back. I think it’s the Urge.”

Sunny happiness burst from Derek’s skin, so bright and pure that even Scott smiled. The man knelt, awed. “Is it time?”

“We still have a while,” Stiles told him. “I’m just going to be furry for the rest of it. But I can hold out until we reach Earth, okay?”

“You shouldn’t.” Scott tried to look stern, though his lingering smile ruined the effect. “You should shift. Look at you, your tail has been out all day and you probably didn’t notice.”

“I noticed!” He hadn’t, actually, though he could feel it smushed in the back of his jumpsuit now that it’d been pointed out. Ugh. “Anyway, if I can’t fix this Stargate before the Urge takes me the Tau’ri are basically stuck for a whole moon. They have people offworld, Scotty. They need me.”

There wasn’t a strong argument against that. Scott threw his hands up and stalked off, probably to write another shmoopy letter to Kira. (Which was stupid if you asked Stiles- her Time of Choice was almost up, so the ducenti would be reunited before a letter could even reach her.)

“Are you sure this isn’t hurting you?”

Stiles couldn’t lie to Derek. He could avoid, obfuscate, change the subject, misdirect, but he could not lie. It was one of the very few drawbacks to finding your duca instead of mating for more practical reasons than scent. The tenass slumped over into Derek’s side. “It’s like… like staying awake too long. It sucks but I can hang a little longer. Just tell Colonel Caldwell we need to be the first ones off the ship.”

Derek’s hand moved from his neck to his back, digging into a knot there. “I can try. We’ll have to take a shuttle and a bus, though. That takes longer than the Transporter.”

Stiles remembered the nausea from before and shuddered. Still- “Actually, let’s do that. The Transporter.”

“What? No, you said it was bad for you,” Derek protested. “I don’t want to put you at risk.”

“It’s not dangerous, it just makes me dizzy.” Really dizzy, but Stiles could manage that if he just skipped lunch beforehand. “At this point, anything that gets me in my fur sooner is fine by me.”

Derek made an unconvinced humming sound and pushed the tray closer to Stiles. “Eat. I’ll talk to the Colonel.” Stiles was sure he wasn’t hungry, but he made the effort. For Derek. Because he was a good duca.

The fact that somehow Derek had scrounged the butterscotch pudding Stiles had been told was all gone had nothing to do with it.

 

“You have my tools, right?”

“They’re all in their case.”

“And my emergency pudding?”

Derek patted the pocket where he’d put the pack. “Right here where I can reach it. Are you sure you want to do this?”

They were standing on the bridge of the _Daedelus_ , watching Earth on the screen. Only the bridge crew joined them this time; presumably most of the crew had last minute arrival duties. Colonel Caldwell sat in his command chair several feet away. He smelled uncomfortable. Stiles hadn’t spent much time with the colonel, but he guessed the man was afraid of getting splashed. “It’s okay,” he said reassuringly. “I didn’t eat anything since dinner, there’s nothing for me to vomit.”

That got him a judgmental glare from Scott. “Stiles! Not okay! You need your energy.”

“So feed me when we get there. I just don’t want to make hurling on Tau’ri my new calling card.”

One of the bridge crew put her hand up. “Sir? Earth is within range and we’re clear with the SGC. Ready on your mark.”

Colonel Caldwell looked at Stiles. His discomfort peaked sharply, revealing he’d actually been worried. “There’s still time to take a shuttle.”

The tenass thought of his tail, still out and crammed down the back of his jumpsuit. His ears were likely to follow soon. He squeezed his eyes shut and wrapped his arms around Derek tightly. “Nope. I’m good, we can go.” There was a high electronic beep, and the world fuzzed out.

Knowing what to expect helped him handle the jolt of nausea. Derek’s scent helped more. Stiles stood breathing it in even after they finished materializing, separating himself only when Scott said, “If you can’t even leave your duca-”

“I said I was fine,” Stiles protested, peeling himself off Derek’s chest. They were on a ramp in a long, rather heartlessly plain gray room. At one end was a window into a crowded second floor room. Two people stood waiting in the room, both in different forms of military uniforms. One of them had a scent that made Stiles wrinkle his nose a little. Not quite Goa’uld, but very close. Like Goa’uld and chemicals. Maybe he’d been infected before like Colonel Caldwell. Stiles should ask about that later.

Beside him, Derek gave an awkward wave. “Good morning, Colonel Carter. This is Stiles and Scott, both of Beacon.”

The other waiting person, a woman with short blond hair and little birds on her uniform shoulders, smiled in greeting. She smelled great, a mix of paper and dirt and sunshine that belied her polished appearance. “Welcome to Earth, Dr. Hale, gentlemen. This is Teal’c of Chulak.” She lowered her voice. “I want to reassure you that Colonel Caldwell briefed me on your condition. Teal’c is also an alien, and we can close a screen over that window to keep you out of everyone’s view if you do need to, ah, change.”

Derek visibly relaxed. “Thank you, ma’am. I appreciate that.”

“Why were you worried?” Scott asked, confused. “We change on Atlantis all the time. Stiles changed on the ship.”

“Atlantis is small and the crew of the _Daedelus_ are very tight-lipped. Here-” Colonel Carter made a face. “Earth politics are complicated. Some nations who are technically allies in this project aren’t ones I’d trust with your secret. The Stargate affects everyone, so we had to allow them to observe the repairs. Still, I don’t want them knowing more than they have to about your abilities. You’re already valuable enough as an expert without adding in shapeshifting.”

Scott’s eyes went to the window and narrowed. Suspicion bloomed in the air. “So we have to hide Stiles once he changes?”

Heavy guilt colored her scent. “I’m sorry, but yes. Just for a couple days until we can get you back home.”

Stiles wilted a little. “I thought I might get a tour,” he said forlornly. “I haven’t even see your Stargate yet.”

The man who wasn’t quite Goa’uld- Teal’c- raised an arm. “It is directly behind you, Stiles of Beacon.”

Stiles followed the gesture and forgot his disappointment. He waddled up the ramp as fast as his tired legs would carry him. “Oh wow, did you make your own clavis? I mean I knew you had, but here it is all hooked up!”

He heard Derek and Scott speaking behind him but ignored them. His attention was focused on the Stargate perched at the top of a wide ramp. Some kind of cable system fed along the back of it and up the stationary outer ring. The arrangement looked graceful somehow, as if Ancient technology were meant to blend so well with Tau’ri. “What’s this metal ring you put on the inside?” he asked without turning. “This little segmented one that runs around the front edge, I mean.”

Colonel Carter came up beside him to see where he was pointing. “That’s our Iris. We can close it centimeters from the event horizon to prevent anyone from fully materializing through the gate.”

Stiles let out a low whistle. He probably smelled completely star-struck right now, but only Scotty would know. “That is brutal. I love it. I can’t even believe you got it to work. I mean with it here on the surface like this getting the psulation ironed out must have been a nightmare.”

The colonel frowned slightly, though her scent was bright with interest. “Psulation? I’m sorry, that must be one of your words that doesn’t translate. Your husband says it happens sometimes.”

Husband… that was the Tau’ri word for both mates and ducenti. Somehow they didn’t have different words for those who mated for love and those who had other reasons, which was bizarre. Stiles saved the linguistics discussion for another day and nodded. “Yes, um, hmm. How to explain this… well, you know when the event horizon opens and the forvental crest sparls over the chilosure? That’s psulation. It’s what your magnetosplier filters.”

Chocolatey dark embarrassment colored her scent for a moment before being overwhelmed by citrus curiosity again. She pulled out a small box and flipped a switch. “I’m broadcasting this into the room now if that’s all right. Ladies and gentlemen, this is Stiles- is it Hale?”

Derek had said something about mated humans sharing names, hadn’t he? “You can use that if you want, Colonel Carter. Sorry for the babble, just- I mean, it’s not every day you meet a race that could jury-rig Ancient technology before they’d even left their own planet. I got a little excited.”

“Hey, I remember my first day on this project,” the woman said with an answering smile. “I was just as geeked out as you. You can call me Sam, by the way. Could you please explain for everyone what you just said?”

Taken aback, Stiles thought over his words. “Uh, from where?”

“Well…” She grinned. “I understood event horizon.”

Her words took a moment to register. When they did Stiles was floored. Was it possible… Could they really not understand how the ring worked? Had they somehow managed to modify the Stargate and make it function just by trial and error? By _intuition_? He looked around with new respect. The Tau’ri had to be the most resourceful race he’d ever heard of.

Pain rippled across his stomach. He let out a little gasp, and suddenly Scott and Derek were on either side of him. “What was that, what’s wrong?” Derek asked. “Is it time?”

“It’s past time.” Scott reeked of exasperation and worry. “Can you get to work already?”

One of the kits was kicking his spine. Stiles breathed through the pain for a moment until they got bored in there, then shook himself. “Okay. Okay, I’m fine, just need to hurry.”

“What do you need?” Sam said, all business. “Should we take the Iris off?”

He waved a hand. “No way, if it’s been working this whole time you did it right. But, um.” It felt intensely awkward having to say this to a people so advanced, like he was explaining how gravity worked. “You aren’t using a standard clavis. There are routine procedures the clavis runs every so often to keep everything running, whether or not the Stargate is active. If you’ve been running this on without any maintenance for a decade, well…”

It was easier to do than explain at this point. Stiles burned with second-hand embarrassment as he went over to the Ring. He ran his palm over the bottom edge until the revoicell panel slid open. Sam let out a startled noise behind him (sweet moons, they hadn’t even known this was here, had they?). Stiles kept his crimson face as neutral as he could. “See this switch? We move it to the other side like this and wait a few seconds… I like to count to five… now we flip it back.” A faint hum of energy passed over the gate, setting his hair on end for a second. Stiles blew out a relieved sigh and closed the panel. “Okay, the progent filter is cleared. Do that once a year, every other at the latest. It should be fine now.”

He turned around and found Sam staring at him.

Actually, everyone was staring at him. Every single face was blank with surprise. He could only smell the two in the room, and their scents were a confusing mass of notes he couldn’t make out. Stiles felt his smile waver. “Uh, you can dial out now. If you want?”

The corner of Sam’s mouth quirked the tiniest bit. She laid a hand on his arm. “Let’s get out of the way and let them test it.”

Scott pressed close behind them, nudging Derek until the other man got the hint and plastered himself to Stiles’ other side. Stiles didn’t understand. Why wasn’t everyone celebrating? He looked to Sam for an answer, but she was busy giving orders into her device. An alarm sounded, and the outer ring began to spin. Though Stiles desperately wanted to get a closer look at how the artificial clavis worked, he made himself watch quietly like everyone else.

The ring dialed the last coordinate.

With the familiar snap-hiss, the event horizon shot outward and settled back into a cheerfully rippling disk.

Sam walked slowly up the ramp, stopping halfway to stare some more. Her shoulders slumped. Derek stiffened, but Stiles smelled earthy amusement before she turned to address the balcony room. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said seriously, the twitch pulling at her lips again. “It appears we made a man travel across the galaxy to reset our modem.”

That made very little sense to Stiles, though Derek snickered. The watching crowd loved it, too. They burst out in a roar of laughter so loud Stiles could hear it through the window. He felt his ears pop out in surprise.

His ears, and nearly more. The last thread of control threatened to slip through his fingers. He dropped to his knees, holding on hard. “Derek, it’s now. Like right now. If you have to do the screen-”

“On it,” Sam said at once. Instead of speaking she pushed another button on her device. A black screen began rolling over the window. She came to crouch beside him. “It takes about ten seconds to lower.”

“I’m so proud of you,” Derek murmured into his duca’s hair. “So proud, and I’ll make sure you get the tour if I have to smuggle you in my coat.”

Stiles felt a rush of love and excitement. The next time they held each other like this they’d have _children_. “Don’t forget that I love you, okay? Tell yourself every day because I won’t be able to.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “This is a perfectly natural biological function. You won’t die from not talking for a moon.”

“You never know, Scotty, I could be the fir-”

-And the world shot up around him as he collapsed into his soulform. It snapped around him with a peculiar firmness unlike anything he’d ever felt. The relief was so intense that Stiles just lay there panting in his wadded clothing. Inside him, the much-smaller kits luxuriated in the increased space. _Don’t get used to it_ , he thought to them. _You’ll grow too big for this, too._

Gentle hands reached through the clothing. Stiles recognized Derek’s scent and went willingly, letting the man draw him out. His nose was much sharper in this form. He could smell more on Sam: sour wheat ale, a faint whiff of fish. Teal’c was a mass of scents Stiles didn’t have words for. The tenass stretched his nose closer, trying to figure it out, but all he got for his efforts was a full-body sneeze.

Someone squeaked. He looked around to find Sam with her hand over her mouth. She dropped it, smelling weirdly soft. “I’m so sorry. I know you can still understand me, I just didn’t expect you to be so…”

“Cute?” Derek suggested. He smelled so smug when people complimented Stiles. “Don’t worry, he’s not offended. He loves this kind of attention. In fact he’ll probably milk it for all it’s worth.”

“Can we go now?” Scott’s happiness about his friend obeying the Urge warred with his suspicions. “If we have to hide him, I mean?”

Sam tore her eyes away from Stiles (maybe he was washing his ears, so what, they itched). “I’d appreciate it if he could stay until we get everyone home again, just in case. Ah, that is- I mean, can he speak like this?”

Derek shook his head. “No, but he might be able to help if something goes wrong. It’ll just be a complicated game of charades.”

“Can he use a touch screen?” She pulled a flat screened device from her pocket and held it up. “There are some great programs built for non-verbal people that he can use to speak. He can build sentences through a picture library or just type on a virtual keyboard.”

Stiles whipped his head around to stare at Scott, who was staring right back at him. It had never occurred to them to make such a program. People simply shifted back to two legs to talk or waited out during pregnancy. It wasn’t so bad when they could practically communicate by scent anyway, but with non-Beaconites involved…This was genius. Stiles wondered if they’d let him take the device back to Atlantis when they were done.

Maybe he didn’t have to spend a whole moon mute, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> So let's say hypothetically that someone could somehow be transformed into a Beaconite. Would you guys want it to be Derek? Someone from Stargate? I make no promises, just there was an idea I had and I wondered.


End file.
